


We've Got A Problem

by IWillKeepFighting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s12e20 Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Visions, Supernatural 12x20 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillKeepFighting/pseuds/IWillKeepFighting
Summary: Dean receives Mary's messages. Why didn't Sam wake up after?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a small amount of blood.
> 
> Relatively minor spoilers for the episode (S12E20).
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. All of Mary's lines are directly from the show, as are Dean's first few; I claim no credit for them. (The title is one of Mary's lines and I claim no credit for that either.)

"Hey, it's me. Sorry I couldn't pick up before, I've been on a hunt with Ketch."

Mom sounds all right, and it's good to hear from her, but Dean doesn't like Ketch, doesn't trust the man. He knows full well that she can take care of herself. But. Still.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you and Sam," Mom's voice says. He looks over at his brother, still slouched against the window, asleep. He's been trying not to hold it against her, this continued absence, but for all that Sam has still been playing the middle, refusing to blame her for staying away, it's been affecting him too. She goes on, "But I want to be. I will be. I just — I need to finish this. I miss you boys. I love you."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at the last few words. And he understands, he does — the need to finish what you start. She had originally explained away her absence by saying that she needed time to adjust, to mourn her old life, but now? Now it sounds like she actually wants to come back and be with the two of them. He can wait while she finishes whatever she needs to finish.

Mom's message had been a good surprise after a very, very bad day, so his guard is down and he's relaxed as he plays her next message. But this one is different. "Dean, call me," her voice says, and he takes a moment to register the difference in tone. Then his eyes flick forward, narrowing, to the road that he should be paying attention to, but he's feeling the edge of worry now and his attention is only for her voice. "We've got a problem." The message ends, and he lowers the phone, looks down at it as though he missed something — maybe there's another message waiting, an explanation? But no.

He looks ahead again, the worry creeping up on him, and then glances over at his brother. "Sam. Hey," he says, to wake him up. "It's Mom, something's wrong."

He's increased his speed to tamp down his growing concern, so he's making sure to keep his eyes on the road, but Sam doesn't respond and he has to look over again — his voice has never failed to wake his brother on a road trip, never, but Sam is still leaning against the window, eyes closed, as though he didn't hear a thing. "Sam!" he says, louder, his own eyes trained on his brother now.

He's still asleep, didn't even flinch, so Dean reaches out, hits his arm — but Sam is unresponsive. Dean doesn't so much as take the time to swear under his breath, just swerves onto the shoulder of the road and brakes abruptly, hoping the movement will be jarring enough to wake his brother. He puts the Impala into park and then turns all his attention to Sam, who hasn't moved at all.

" _Sam_ ," he says, not so much louder as just urgently. "Dude, wake up." He grabs Sam's shoulder and shakes him, once, twice, not roughly but much more than should have been necessary.

Nothing. Now he does swear, turning where he sits so that he can reach over to take hold of both shoulders and turn his brother towards him, shaking again. "Sa—"

His voice stutters out — Sam's head is lolling to the side without the window's support, but now that he's turned, Dean can see a trickle of blood from his nose.

He swears again, emphatically, and moves his hands — one to support Sam's head, one to check for injury. He notices the expected bruising circling his neck (Sam had mentioned the guy trying to choke him, before Alicia— well, the guy tried) but it's absentmindedly, and even checking for some other injury doesn't have his full focus. Yes, he could've tripped somewhere, hit his head against something, but his nose definitely isn't broken, and in fact there's no sign of anything wrong at all except the blood.

Blood is enough of a sign by itself, obviously; he's started to run his fingers through Sam's hair, in search of a telltale bump, because... this could be a head injury. It could be. It had to be. He told himself that of _course_ it was, what else could it be, over and over, while at the same time repeating his brother's name dumbly.

"Sam."

Nothing visible on his face; nothing wrong with his nose, nothing at all.

" _Sam_."

Nothing to be felt on his head.

"Sam, _Sam_ , c'mon man, wake up..."

This is proof of why long hair's a bad idea: obviously, _obviously_ he can't feel anything wrong because there's too much hair in the way.

" _Sammy_!"

How long has be been unconscious? _Asleep_ , he corrects himself viciously, just asleep — but how long? How long has the nosebleed been left unchecked? It's not a crazy amount of blood, but it's too much — it's traced its way down Sam's face, along his jaw and reaching his collar, but it looks like it only got that far recently.

"SAM!"

That doesn't tell him enough, not nearly enough, because he doesn't know how long it's been. Sam was awake and talking but that was awhile ago, and he said something about catching some z's, and he was definitely asleep — asleep, _not unconscious_ , but that was then. He's been shaking Sam by the shoulders a few more times, out of a kind of reflex (he knows it won't work, he knows but he has to try _something_ ), and it doesn't look like sleep, it looks like—

Sam's face scrunches up in what is clearly pain, and then he gasps awake, body going rigid, eyes going wide and not immediately focusing on anything. Dean keeps his hands on his shoulders, deeply relieved that his brother is awake, but unsettled as his eyes flit around before finally, finally landing on Dean's face.

He's hoping that his grip is somewhat grounding, and that's why he doesn't let go, and it sort of seems to work because all at once Sam sits upright and grabs onto Dean's arms (it's a bruising grip, but he's not complaining). "Dean," he whispers, eyes still wide, expression frantic. "Dean, we— we gotta—"

"Take it easy," Dean says, keeping his own eyes on his brother's face; it looks like the blood's stopped, and that's something, especially with the return of consciousness. But Sam's scared, scared in a way he hasn't seen in a long, long time, and he gets a sinking feeling in his gut because he doesn't want this to be what he's beginning to think it is.

Sam takes as deep a breath as he can seem to manage, eyes darting away and back again. He swallows, and then shuts his eyes tight, his grip on Dean's arms even tighter. He's floundering for words. "Garth, and— and the others— everyone— we gotta _save_ them—"

When his voice breaks on that one word, _save_ , Dean has to decide between action and denial. He wants, so very badly, to believe that it was just a nightmare and Sam is just worried; they did just see a friend die, and that could trigger all kinds of nightmares.

But for all that Sam's nightmares have sometimes seemed to be painful, they've never triggered a nosebleed. Only one thing (save head trauma) does, so Dean takes a deep breath and squeezes Sam's shoulders, before pulling away and settling back to a driving position. "Where to?" he asks, his voice steady where his mind definitely isn't (because this can't be happening again, it's been so many years, it _can't_ —).

"Home," Sam says, and his voice is pained; Dean is pulling back onto the road and stepping on the gas, accelerating probably too quickly, but he doesn't care because when he looks over, his brother's expression is broadcasting pain and worry and fear, a fear he thought was buried safely away in their past.

For a minute, the only sound is the roar of the Impala's engine as they speed towards home even farther above the speed limit than usual. But it's justified, especially when Sam speaks again. "The Bunker," he says, and his voice is _wrecked_. Dean's hands tighten on the wheel and he presses the gas just a little more, glancing over to see Sam leaning forward but looking ahead, blinking rapidly. "They get in — I tried, but — but she, she—" An actual tear escapes, and Sam curls in on himself, elbows on his knees and hands tangling in his hair as he tries to hold himself together.

There are important things to ask — who's "they", who's "she", what kind of timeframe are they working with — but they're far enough out from the Bunker that it can wait (he hopes, selfishly, that "she" isn't Mom, because it feels like they just got her back). From experience, old experience that he had never wanted to revisit, he knows that Sam can't make sense of it himself just yet. He'll be more coherent in a couple of minutes and then they can make a plan.

But Sam is shaking, maybe actually crying, and Dean's taken to mentally swearing, as vehemently as possible; they were supposed to be _done_ with this — they were done with it, had been for a decade. So why, why were the death-visions coming back now?

He can't demand answers, because his brother can't possibly provide them. But he can get them home — and by this point, the Impala is practically flying to get them there.


	2. The Revised Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author corrects a big inaccuracy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I am a horrible fan.
> 
> I thought that Sam got nosebleeds from his visions. … He didn’t. *headdesk* I am so terribly embarrassed because I was so proud of this! xD Okay, so, I guess the point of this is… always be sure to fact-check. Always.
> 
> _I mean, seriously._ How _did I confuse his visions with exorcisms? Just how? *shakes head*_
> 
> _I’m going to leave the first version, though. Let’s say that the intense headaches got dramatically worse after so many years. This kind of thing could mess up your head enough to make your nose bleed, right? Right?_
> 
> _(But I got nice comments so I still feel bad for messing up. ._. Nobody made fun of me for my ameteur mistake, so uh, thanks for that. <3)_
> 
> **This is the revised version!**

"Hey, it's me. Sorry I couldn't pick up before, I've been on a hunt with Ketch."

Mom sounds all right, and it's good to hear from her, but Dean doesn't like Ketch, doesn't trust the man. He knows full well that she can take care of herself. But. Still.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you and Sam," Mom's voice says. He looks over at his brother, still slouched against the window, asleep. He's been trying not to hold it against her, this continued absence, but for all that Sam has still been playing the middle, refusing to blame her for staying away, it's been affecting him too. She goes on, "But I want to be. I will be. I just — I need to finish this. I miss you boys. I love you."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at the last few words. And he understands, he does — the need to finish what you start. She had originally explained away her absence by saying that she needed time to adjust, to mourn her old life, but now? Now it sounds like she actually wants to come back and be with the two of them. He can wait while she finishes whatever she needs to finish.

Mom's message had been a good surprise after a very, very bad day, so his guard is down and he's relaxed as he plays her next message. But this one is different. "Dean, call me," her voice says, and he takes a moment to register the difference in tone. Then his eyes flick forward, narrowing, to the road that he should be paying attention to, but he's feeling the edge of worry now and his attention is only for her voice. "We've got a problem." The message ends, and he lowers the phone, looks down at it as though he missed something — maybe there's another message waiting, an explanation? But no.

He looks ahead again, the worry creeping up on him, and then glances over at his brother. "Sam. Hey," he says, to wake him up. "It's Mom, something's wrong."

He's increased his speed to tamp down his growing concern, so he's making sure to keep his eyes on the road, but Sam doesn't respond and he has to look over again — his voice has never failed to wake his brother on a road trip, never, but Sam is still leaning against the window, eyes closed, as though he didn't hear a thing. "Sam!" he says, louder, his own eyes trained on his brother now.

He's still asleep, didn't even flinch, so Dean reaches out, hits his arm — but Sam is unresponsive. Dean doesn't so much as take the time to swear under his breath, just swerves onto the shoulder of the road and brakes abruptly, hoping the movement will be jarring enough to wake his brother. He puts the Impala into park and then turns all his attention to Sam, who hasn't moved at all.

" _Sam_ ," he says, not so much louder as just urgently. "Dude, wake up." He grabs Sam's shoulder and shakes him, once, twice, not roughly but much more than should have been necessary.

Nothing. Now he does swear, turning where he sits so that he can reach over to take hold of both shoulders and turn his brother towards him, shaking again. "Sa—"

He cuts himself off. Sam's head is lolling to the side without the window's support, but now that he's turned, it's clear that his face is scrunched up in pain, and he keeps flinching but it isn't in time with the efforts to wake him up. His eyes are shut but the lids are twitching, a sure sign that he's either dreaming or having a nightmare — it must be a nightmare, because even though it's taken Dean a minute now, he can see that Sam is starting to hyperventilate.

He swears again, emphatically, and moves his hands — one to support Sam's head, one on his shoulder to keep him upright. He notices the expected bruising circling his neck (Sam had mentioned the guy trying to choke him, before Alicia— well, the guy tried) but it's absentmindedly, and even quickly checking him over for some other injury doesn't have his full focus. It's automatic, the need to be certain that he's not hurt, but it's pretty clear that the only thing wrong is whatever's going on inside his head.

"Sam," he says, "Sam, c'mon man, wake up."

How long has be been unconscious? _Asleep_ , he corrects himself viciously, because he doesn't know where that thought even came from — but how long?

" _Sam_!"

Sam was awake and talking but that was awhile ago, and he said something about catching some z's, and he was definitely asleep — asleep, _not unconscious, why does he keep thinking that?_ but that was then. He's been shaking Sam by the shoulders a few more times, out of a kind of reflex (it hasn't worked yet, it probably won't work now, he knows but he has to try _something_ ), and it doesn't look like sleep, it looks like—

Sam gasps awake, body going rigid, eyes going wide and not immediately focusing on anything. Dean keeps his hands on his shoulders, deeply relieved that his brother is awake, but unsettled as his eyes flit around before finally, finally landing on Dean's face.

He's hoping that his grip is somewhat grounding, and that's why he doesn't let go, and it sort of seems to work because all at once Sam sits upright and grabs onto Dean's arms (it's a bruising grip, but he's not complaining). "Dean," he whispers, eyes still wide, expression frantic. "Dean, we— we gotta—"

"Take it easy," Dean says, keeping his own eyes on his brother's face; he's relieved that he finally woke up, but. Something seems wrong. Sam's scared, scared in a way he hasn't seen in a long, long time — more scared than any nightmare Dean's ever witnessed, ever — and he gets a sinking feeling in his gut because this can't possibly be anything good. (He would take a nightmare, at this point, because those _go away, unlike the blatant terror on his brother's face that isn't so much as fading.)_

__

Sam takes as deep a breath as he can seem to manage, eyes darting away and back again. He swallows, and then shuts his eyes tight, his grip on Dean's arms even tighter. He's floundering for words. "Garth, and— and the others— everyone— we gotta _save_ them—"

__

When his voice breaks on that one word, _save_ , Dean has to decide what to do. He wants, so very badly, to believe that it was just a nightmare and Sam is just worried; they did just see a friend die, and that could trigger all kinds of nightmares. And he can _do_ something about a nightmare, try to be comforting or help keep Sam awake for awhile or _something_.

__

But this is different, it _feels_ different, and trusting a gut instinct has saved their lives more times than he cares to count, so Dean takes a deep breath and squeezes Sam's shoulders, before pulling away and settling back to a driving position. "Where to?" he asks, his voice steady where his mind definitely isn't (because something has come to mind, a time where he saw this before, but it's been so many years, it _can't be_ —).

__

"Home," Sam says, and his voice is pained; Dean is pulling back onto the road and stepping on the gas, accelerating probably too quickly, but he doesn't care because when he looks over, his brother's expression is broadcasting pain and worry and fear, a fear he thought was buried safely away in their past.

__

For a minute, the only sound is the roar of the Impala's engine as they speed towards home even farther above the speed limit than usual (his mind is wandering to far-fetched theories that he wants to believe instead of those memories he's trying to deny). But it's justified, especially when Sam speaks again. "The Bunker," he says, and his voice is _wrecked_. Dean's hands tighten on the wheel and he presses the gas just a little more, glancing over to see Sam leaning forward but looking ahead, blinking rapidly. "They get in — I tried, but — but she, she—" An actual tear escapes, and Sam curls in on himself, elbows on his knees and hands tangling in his hair as he tries to hold himself together. "I _saw_ it, Dean, it— it's gonna happen and— they'll all _die_."

__

There are important things to ask — who's "they", who's "she", what kind of timeframe are they working with — but they're far enough out from the Bunker that it can wait (he hopes, selfishly, that "she" isn't Mom, because it feels like they just got her back). From experience, old experience that he had never wanted to revisit, he knows that Sam can't make sense of it himself just yet. He'll be more coherent in a couple of minutes and then they can make a plan.

__

But Sam is shaking, maybe actually crying, and Dean's taken to mentally swearing, as vehemently as possible; they were supposed to be _done_ with this — they _were_ done with it, had been for a decade. So why, why were the death-visions coming back now?

__

He can't demand answers, because his brother can't possibly provide them. But he can get them home — and by this point, the Impala is practically flying to get them there.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone makes mistakes. Cough.
> 
> I... actually prefer this version? Not just because it's accurate where the other wasn't. Possibly because I had to put more thought into it. *shrug* I didn't give it as much time as it may have deserved, though, so it's possible that Dean catches on to the fact that it's a vision too quickly/easily. Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> And thus concludes my very first SPN fic! Comments are appreciated; tell me what you think. :]
> 
> If anyone's worried about Garth, I only picked his name because he's the first hunter that came to mind; the synopsis for the next episode is troubling and I HOPE Garth's not involved, but who knows.
> 
> (I will always, always, always look for convenient places to insert my headcanons about Sam's powers coming back. Fitting that that would star in my first go at it.)


End file.
